


Undercover & Out Of Sight

by lucyraebrown



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bree - Freeform, Erebor, Ered Luin, London, M/M, Mafia AU, Modern AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Shire, a bit of smut, balin and dwalin are mafia bosses, bilbo owns bagshot row which is a bed and breakfast, dis is married to dwalin, everything is a cliffhanger, frodo and sam are a summer item, gandalf and belladonna had some things going on in the past, gandalf is a private investigator for the british parliament, he's not too fond of pretty businessmen staying with him, more smut to come, some blood, some gun references, some homophobia but it's really minor, the bree people like to gossip, the fundin company is very dangerous, they have a baby boy named vinnie, thorin works as a consigliere for the fundin brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28516632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyraebrown/pseuds/lucyraebrown
Summary: Tired of his toiling job as the consigliere of the Fundinson brothers, Thorin catches a red-eye for a tiny town in the country only to find that the host of the bed and breakfast there is a beautiful bachelor by the name of Bilbo Baggins. However, happy-ever-afters surely aren't on the menu.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Dís/Dwalin (Tolkien), Frerin & Thorin Oakenshield, Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 26
Kudos: 29





	1. A Much-Needed Holiday

Thorin rolled from the side of his bed to the middle, raking a hand through his hair. The black locks fell from the lackluster bun he had tied earlier that evening, splaying onto his pillow like water on ink. Working nights and living during the days in the sunlight hadn't been a problem until recently -- Thorin was currently fighting a ragged set of migraines, this one the fourth of the week. He figured the weather, rainy and dreary as London liked to be, had been affecting his head, causing the fog to grow in his temples and dance to the cranial region the longer he kept his eyes open. Thunderstorms streaked rain across all of the windowsills in his flat and the tin roof that he lived under, another painful, wet night ahead of work before him.  
This was going to be a tough one, speaking as he could barely glance at the clock long enough before his head pounded on and on. Regardless, the man strolled out of the soft covers on his mattress and shuffled into a pain of trousers, fixing a hairbrush through his hair before peeking an eye open in the mirror. Bags drooped under lusty blue eyes, lines above his dark eyebrows. A scowl was living where a soft smile would usually crack when he looked into the mirror. Thorin Durin was pretty, almost model-like sometimes, but he did nasty work under the watchful eyes of the Fundin brothers.  
Dwalin and Balin, his bosses, were currently awaiting his arrival.  
Thorin was an errand boy for the owners of a very famous iron-working business in East London, where they made knives, guns, and all-things sharp and dangerous. He usually spent his evenings driving the Porsche around the alleys, picking up money from the dealers, dropping off weapons to the thieves and bank robbers of the underground. It seemed unthinkable that a man such as his standing, the last-living son of Thain, a wealthy banker, would be working in these conditions, but it paid well. Besides, he had known the brothers since primary school -- as long as he wasn't burdened with the fear of death or bad finance, he wasn't scared of a little blood and dirt.  
Rolling into the kitchen, Thorin shuffled his lumber legs into a pair of boots and flicked on the coffee machine, watching with a yawn as it dripped black coffee into a paper cup. He popped his pills and massaged his head, sipping peacefully in the silence of the house. His flat was a fine one, on the top floor of an industrial-chic building, open-concept and as lonely as bachelor pads went. From beyond weary, sleepy eyes, Thorin glanced down at his phone and read over his instructions for the night.  
He sighed, frowned at the time, and dumped his coffee in the sink. Before throwing on his coat, he dipped a kiss to the front of a photograph on the table.  
A smiling Frerin promised his return every time he left, regardless if he was a picture or a memory. To know that there was a life worth living, for someone he loved, gave Thorin all of the strength in the world and more to do his job the best he could. If Frerin had known before that haunting night in the fire that his brother was going to be the consigliere of a mafia, he probably wouldn't have lept from the window. He had always worried that Thorin was too sweet for his own good and that one day, he would say yes to an agreement that he couldn't escape.  
As the moon moved further into the sky, the man boarded himself in the driver's seat of his car, tugged his keys from his pocket, and listened to the engine purr. The pain in his skull brain grew with the hum of the car as he sped off into the evening, expecting nothing less than a bullet wound when he returned. He hissed a string of curse words, muttered a prayer to Mahal, and broke the speed limit by at least eighty. The streetlights flew as he danced through the streets, the radio off and his mind empty now that he was awake. Dwalin was calling on the dash and Balin blowing up his messenger before he reached the first red light, demanding a reroute to upper London for a gone-wrong burglary. Ahead, four cop cars were perched, abiding to stop him for speeding.  
God, he really needed to get a new job.


	2. The Innkeeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo Baggins gets a visitor.

Spring was on the horizon, as it was evident in the neighborhood of Bree. Miles out of London, the tiny country town was situated between tall hills and lush green forests, horse ranches and white cottages as rare as the wildflowers which touched each patch of grass. The people were few but were quaint and friendly. They all knew each other and could frequently be found bringing warm pies and tea around whenever the weather was lovely -- most of the time, it was sunny and breezy, gorgeous scents floating through the air and ponies whinnying in the distance to be heard.

Bilbo Baggins was one of these eccentric, happy folk living in Bree. He owned the only tourist attraction in the nearby land -- a bed and breakfast called Bagshot Row, where not many stayed but were always welcomed for a meal or two as they drove through on their way to the big city. He had inherited it from his parents, the proud Belladonna and Bungo Baggins, who turned their white, grand cottage into the tiny hotel at the turn of the century. As London grew, as did the people, and being people-pleasers themselves, they considered it a more-than-worthy investment. 

He was a charming man, young and handsome, who loved tea, floral decorations, and his five barn cats who lived inside more than they wandered the hills outdoors. He enjoyed quiet days and reading and could be found on his front porch most days sipping from a mug of earl grey and scouring the local newspaper.

On that specific spring day, Bilbo awoke to the sunrise and breathed in the heavenly smells of the countryside. He hadn't felt this well-rested in a bit, as he had been up late the past few evenings working on his novel. A story about his life, which wasn't much of a narrative in itself but more of a brooding episode of his love life. He was a bachelor and a well-mannered soul who enjoyed the company of men; this wasn't so much as shrugged upon in Bree, where the women were married early and happy, but he wasn't as dearly loved as the other citizens due to this title. It hung around him most days while he worked the time away, reminding him that there was more to be explored about himself as he grew older and lonelier.

He padded down the creaky staircase, which had flowers painted along its edges in delicate pinks and blues, and took to making a pot of tea before he opened the doors and windows to see if anyone was due to stay at the inn. Popping some slices of toast into the toaster and pouring his newest kittens some kibble, he heard footsteps upstairs. Frodo, his nephew, was staying with him for the summer, now that he had come of age to drive on his own and visit the Baggins who lived outside of London.

"Good morning, Uncle," He greeted sleepily, rubbing a pair of blue eyes and slumping onto the sofa. Tiredly, he reached for a blanket and curled up into it, his mind still blurry from being awoken by the bright sun and not the sound of city taxis and garbage trucks. "Any news of visitors?"

"I haven't thought to check the mailbox yet... why don't you ask Samwise when he comes around after breakfast? Surely he would have heard from his father if someone was coming around." Bilbo smiled and dropped the paper to the coffee table, seeing to make Frodo a plate of eggs and bacon.

"I kind of miss the internet... you could make a social media page to advertise the B and B, you know!" The teenager pointed out, the television lighting up with a few channels coming in. "It's so quiet here all day..."

"That's the pleasures of Bree, my boy. No technology, all of the books in the world," Sighing peacefully, Bilbo took in a sip of his tea before flipping an egg sunny-side up. He much did like his quiet life, and wouldn't trade it for anything. Perhaps, maybe a handsome husband, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Regardless, what would it do to stir the town if they knew the owner of Bagshot Row Bed & Breakfast was a homosexual?! "You'll come to enjoy it in the meantime. Come say your prayers, breakfast is ready."

The mail came by later when the sun was fully out, brought by Bilbo's gardener and all-around errand boy, Samwise Gamgee. Sam was no older than Frodo, a young man just barely past growing, and had loved the inn owner since he was but an infant in a stroller. His mother, Bell Goodchild, had been Bilbo's best friend growing up in primary school, always pressuring him into doing very non-Baggins things and earning him quite the reputation as a troublemaker. They had kept in touch after Bell married the town mayor, Hamfast, and moved into a beautiful brick manor down the bend. Now, Sam and Frodo were getting into the same troubles, spending the hot summer days in the creek waist-deep, digging for crayfish.

"Good morning, Mister Bilbo," The cheery, golden-haired Sam greeted, bringing by the small pile of bills and letters to the inn. He sat down on the porch, waiting for Frodo to finish his chores so they could head down to the stream. "Anything to share?"

"Not exactly," Hummed Bilbo, scanning by the spam letters and tucking an electric bill into his shirt pocket. Most of Sam and Bilbo's morning chatter was in regards to the gossip of the locals, and nothing short of uninteresting news from the bank or general store. "Anything from the town?"

"Oh! There's a man here, visiting... a businessman from London, I think."

"A businessman?" Immediately, the innkeeper's heart dropped to his feet -- that's how little contact he had with the outside world of men. Bree wasn't burdened most of the time with people that dressed in suits and flaunted their money, except he could pull off the top of his head that a member of the Prime Minister's cabinet had stopped at the gas station a month ago. "That's... well, what's his name? Has he been here before?"

"I didn't catch his first name. Mister Durin was his title, and he was all clad in black! Miss Rosie Cotton almost had a heart attack opening the cafe doors this morning to the likes of him." Troubled for his long-time crush, Sam's face drooped into his hands. Sometimes, even Bilbo saw a bit of himself in the teenager's blushes over the curly-haired young woman.

"Well, we ought to have manners to Mister Durin when we see him!" Frodo ran out of the door, barefooted and carrying a list of groceries that Bilbo needed to be collected at the local shop before lunchtime. "Come on, Sam, let's go see if he'll buy us a soda!"

"Now, boys, don't bother the visitor! Only... well, if he's kind, tell him he's welcome to stay here. We could use the extra money." Groaning to himself at the mention of having a guest, Bilbo stressed needing to change the sheets in the upper bedroom. He handed Frodo a small number of bills and the keys to his car. The boys bowed and said their goodbyes, running down the long, dirt drive in the direction of the barn, where the car was stored.

Bilbo got to his chores once the cottage was empty, sweeping the leaves off of the porch. It was a brisk, quite chilly day, but the sun was shining and the ponies of the Oakenshield Brothers ranch were grazing and waving their tails as if they knew summer was approaching. The bees picked at the wood along the long staircase up to the house and Bilbo scowled at them, reminding himself to paint before the weather got too hot to do much of anything outside.

As he mooned to himself about the things that needed repairing, he poked his head up when a purr hummed down the gravel. A black Porsche was pulling up the drive. The businessman, thought Bilbo, dropping the broom. He sucked in a breath and put on his best innkeeper coat, running out to meet the chauffeur halfway. Rolling down the window of the luxury car, the tuxedo-clad man raised an eyebrow in the direction of his inn.

"Hello," He said calmly, a pretty glare in blue eyes not mistakable as the ones Frodo wore when he stared too long at the pretty ladies on the television. "Care if I stay a few days?" He asked, a deep voice sending a chill of arousal down Bilbo's spine. "Mister..."

"Bilbo. Call me Bilbo." He gulped and ushered to the front door. "Stay as long as you'd like. This is, uh, this is the inn. Bagshot Row, Bed and Breakfast. We are- I'd be happy to serve you, Mister Durin."


	3. Meetings & Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin has as much trouble getting away from work as he does getting into Bilbo's pants. Maybe.

Greetings (and late lunch) were in order as soon as Thorin popped into the bed and breakfast that day. He had managed to convince Dwalin that, without a few days rest, he may have to see a doctor about his reoccurring migraine headaches and stressful nights' sleep. As soon as the news came forward that the company would be threatened with the healthcare system finding out about their illegal enterprises, the younger Fundin brother handed his consigliere a wad of cash and pushed him towards the airport, making sure one of their errand boys packed Mr. Durin's bags for him. As soon as he could say goodbye and promise a handful of phone calls from the country, he was off on a red-eye flight that fateful night.  
He had originally planned to go to Ered Luin, where his sister and himself had grown up after their parents and brother were massacred in a frightening house fire. Thorin didn't remember much of the history of the incident, as he was no older than eight or nine, but he did remember the face of his brother, Frerin, filled with horror as flames reflected in his eyes. The manor they had called home was subject to arson and, as Thorin was the oldest, he had rushed to take his newborn sister into his arms before the staircase fell to the ashes. He called for Frerin to wake their mother and father up; the toddler hadn't been quick enough, and only two survivors of the Durin family walked out safely that night.  
Thorin still had a few patches of broken pig-skin on his legs where the flames had touched to remind him of the past, but years of therapy and rehabilitation had cured him of his nightmares. The migraines were not entirely his job's fault, as memories of the fire still tore at his brain, but he was reassured that the future ahead was bright and that he would always have in memory a family that loved him beyond measure.  
As he retraced his steps in the little airport in which a plane had taken him home to Ered Luin, he was frightened to find that he hadn't booked a hotel or at least a car to drive. Even worse, the football finals were in season, and all of the lodgings were booked weeks ahead for tourists and fans who planned to cheer on the teams. Naturally, he routed back to London but stopped himself as Frerin's stare filled his memory.  
Did he really want to return home to London when he was given his first days off in a decade?  
Instead of making a beeline for the terminal, Thorin took a breath and ordered a coffee. He grabbed the nearest pamphlet stack and fished through them, looking for somewhere that would catch his eye. Rivendell looked promising enough -- a lush tourist attraction with waterfalls, white castles, and large feasts of food. Durin gave a call to the number at the bottom of the paper but was met with the same news as Ered Luin; football season was at its peak, and there wouldn't be any place open to a wandering businessman as himself. Besides, the mayor there was famous for being hated by the Fundin Brothers company, having had dealings in the past related to bloodshed and fraud.  
Maybe that hadn't been such a good idea, after all, mused Thorin as he went to call the next number. He found that the little town of Bree, a line of cottages and green hills in the center of the Shire country, had a bed and breakfast that looked quaint and inviting. It was called Bagshot Row, an odd name for such a happy-looking hotel, and advertised comfortable rooms, tasty meals, and a view unlike any other in the rolling hills. Perhaps it was a tad bit boring and unappealing to a Londoner such as himself, but Thorin was stuck in the airport seats and it couldn't hurt to get a nice sleep in a quiet town. Besides, how bothersome could the host be if everything around looked so gorgeous and serene?  
Now met with reality, disappointment was flushing in Thorin's stomach as he set his suitcase down on the creaking wood floors. The walls were wallpapered with hideous floral patterns and woodland birds. The carpets were a plush cream, so shaggy that some of the pieces were coming loose. It smelled of warm tea and old people inside. Three cats were looming under an armchair in the living room, staring at him with menace as if he was an itch that needed to be scratched. Everything was dreadful to the businessman, from the view to the old bedspread which was stained with printed, needlework red roses.  
Except for the host.  
The host, Mister Bilbo Baggins, was an absolute one-in-a-million when it came to Thorin's taste in men. He hadn't found attraction in the male race for a long time, not since he was young and going to clubs advertised with rainbow flags and private bathroom stalls. He was short and stout, with golden curls that trailed down past his big ears. He wore a vintage mustard-colored sweater and tight blue jeans, massive feet tucked into old black Converse shoes. His eyes were a pretty green that matched the atmosphere of Bree perfectly, and his cheeks blushed just enough that Thorin knew, at first sight, that Bilbo couldn't have been straight. Right?  
Not getting his hopes up wasn't going to be easy, but Thorin was a gentleman and shot back into reality once he packed his belongings into a chest of drawers and sauntered down the stairs of the bed and breakfast.  
Bilbo was reading on the armchair, patting an old orange cat.  
"It seems you've gotten yourself settled, I hope?" He pondered gently as he realized he was relaxing a bit too hard, dog-earing the page and shuffling off into the kitchen. "Can I make you something to drink, Mister, ah- Durin?"  
"Coffee would be fine," He chimed back, already feeling the effects of the long, midnight plane ride. Too burdened to sit in the ugly furniture, Thorin leaned against the staircase and took in the image of the innkeeper from the back. Bilbo caught his eye immediately and blushed. Bingo already. "It's Thorin."  
"Pardon?"  
"Thorin. Mister Durin was my father," He chuckled, the image of Bilbo's face running ripe red in embarrassment filling his eyes with lust. Maybe he had needed a vacation, after all, just to stretch the old wings. "Is the entire cottage yours?"  
"Everything but the barn!" He smiled proudly, puffing up as he brought Thorin a cup of hot black coffee and an old cow creamer cup. "The barn I sold to the lads next door for their ponies. The cottage I took over from my parents, who started the whole bed and breakfast thing."  
The coffee was delicious, and the businessman fell into the couch finally to relax, listening to Bilbo rattle on about the foundation, the history of the town of Bree, the neighborhood gossip, and his lack of visitors at this time of year. He reassured Thorin that his presence was more than welcome -- they hadn't had a proper Londoner here in ages! This would be easy to get used to. Very easy to get used to, if the host was as accommodating in bed as he was with strangers such as himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up, y'all. Hope you readers are enjoying the story so far. I'm using the rest of my rare free time off of work to get the bulk of the plot holes filled up, so I should be posting another chapter here in due time. Thanks for reading :)


	4. Growing Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin, Bilbo and Frodo have dinner. Bilbo realizes his attraction. Thorin realizes his desire. Frodo can't decide if he wants to get involved.

Frodo dropped Sam off at home and pulled the truck down the drive towards the Baggins property. Bilbo hadn't ever cared much for driving himself, as he usually walked or had his nephew run the little errands around the town that he considered essential. The only time he did drive Bungo's old red Chevy pick-up was when he went to the city -- once a year, around Christmastime, Bilbo went and visited Frodo and his parents in London. His brother, Drogo, who wasn't his blood-sibling but instead just a cousin with brother-like values, was similar to Bilbo in regards that he enjoyed being home with his family. His wife, the beautiful Primula, was more adventurous and could be seen wandering around the big city more often than any other of the Baggins did, as she loved to see Bilbo and introduce him to the delicacies of the city. Frodo was more like his mother, but he was a Baggins at heart and was welcome whenever he chose to stay with Bilbo.  
Perhaps, he had been given another reason to as he found that another car was currently parked in the driveway -- an expensive-looking Porsche. So that was the man that he and Sam had heard about, but never had the luck of running into as they ran his uncle's errands. Poking around Bree was no holiday for the two of them, as they had picked apart the city stream by stream, hayloft by hayloft.  
Frodo moved the truck back into the barn and shuffled to the porch with two bags of groceries, enough for dinner for the two Baggins' and their new guest. Frodo wondered if he was handsome like Bilbo always mused his city guests were. His uncle never had a problem speaking his mind to his nephew; he knew that he was into men if his blush served as a reminder every time the teenager watched reality television. He would insist that the models weren't beautiful and gorgeous and giving him a hard-on to save the lad from embarrassment. In reality, Frodo found Bilbo's pining more amusing than disturbing and enjoyed teasing him about it consistently.  
"I'm back, Uncle!" Frodo announced, locking the inn's door behind him. He brought the groceries into the kitchen, where he found his young uncle cooking up a monster pot pie. "I thought we had company?"  
"W-We do! We do... Thor- I mean, Mister Durin is washing up for dinner. He should be down any second if he doesn't want to keep us waiting as he has been the past hour." More hot and bothered than actually annoyed, Bilbo turned to face away from his nephew with a sigh.  
"He's that handsome, hm?" The brunette chuckled and moved to finish the dishes while Bilbo went to set the table, fussing over his hair instead of lining the silverware. "Uncle! You're so nervous, you're never this nervous. Is everything alright?"  
"Yes, yes... I suppose it is. He's just, um... I cannot make it through this meal, with him looking as he does," He whimpered softly, defeat bellowing in his green eyes.  
Frodo opened his lips to speak before he heard the stairs creak. A tall, stocky man grinned at him silently as he ran a hand through long, wet locks. His build was toned, his eyes a looming, sea blue. Sporting a charming t-shirt and some trousers, Mister Durin took his leave at the dinner table and set down his phone next to his plate. A businessman he seemed, with his cleaned features and chiseled smile. No wonder Bilbo was nervous! The Londoner was handsome enough to overthrow even the queen with a flick of the wrist.  
"Nice to meet you," Frodo spoke up first, knowing breaking the silence would lead to reward in the future; his uncle was still a little too red for casual conversation. "Uncle tells me you're a businessman; what do you do?"  
"Oh, um... we work with iron and steel. We make tools and the such." Nervously, Thorin broke a smile and cut into the pot pie in front of him. "I had to use my vacation days up, so I decided this place couldn't hurt. What's there to do in Bree?"  
Bilbo and Frodo met eyes, weakly smiling.  
"Not much, I'm afraid," The innkeeper explained, deep breaths settling his stomach. He poured two glasses of wine before sitting down and making himself a plate of food. Even if he was nervous, he wasn't going to waste the beautiful meal he'd prepared. Not when it looked so delicious, the chicken pouring out the sides with carrots, celery, and potato. "You can horse-ride, go for walks, picnic in the hills..."  
"Oh. That sounds, um... interesting." Breaking away to silence a call, Mister Durin shuffled his hands and occupied his mouth with a bite. "What do guests here usually do? No internet, I've found."  
"Television comes in, except it's a little hard to find a good channel." Bilbo knew the news would upset the handsome man, but he had to tell the truth. Most of his guests were appalled to find they couldn't actually get any work done since the cell reception was as hard to get working as the cable TV. "You're very welcome to read. I have an expansive library.  
"Did you... did you really want to visit Bree? Or was it the only place open?" Frodo asked suddenly, dropping his fork.  
Bilbo shot him a look of disbelief. "Frodo! That's incredibly rude, of course, Mister Durin wanted to vis-"  
"It's okay, lads," Thorin chuckled, a hearty laugh escaping his chest that filled the room. It startled the two small country boys, but Bilbo found it incredibly endearing. Sumptuous, even; he could get used to hearing it. "He's right. I had booked a flight for Ered Luin, but the hotels were booked weeks out. I tried Rivendell, but the news was the same. Honestly, a vacation was the last thing on my mind, but my boss insisted. I hope I don't cause you two any trouble; I'll try my best to stay out of the usual operations of the town. Besides, your cooking is delicious, Bilbo."  
"Thank you, Thorin," Humming, Bilbo raised an eyebrow as Thorin met eyes with him, those curvy red lips seeming to study his own. Dinner went back to normal quickly, though, as he insisted to refill everyone's plates. "I apologize that Bree was the last place on your mind for a holiday. Most of the inn's guests come purposely for solace from work and the usual city living. Frodo and I try to keep to ourselves."  
It was easier said than done, as, after dinner and a delicious dessert of cherry pie and tea, Thorin retreated to the front porch with his phone, leaving the oldest Baggins glaring endearingly out the window at him. Frodo called an early night and promised to do the dishes in the morning, leaving the men alone to their thoughts. And, possibly some romance, if he kept his hopes up.  
"God, I could stare at him for a lifetime and never grow old," Thought Bilbo, resting his knees on the bench that faced the stained-glass window. Thorin was smoking a cigarette now and brooding; he was quieter than he seemed in the beginning, but nonetheless left a mark on the room every time he spoke. He seemed smart, possibly heartbroken, and very-much alone, such as the bachelors of the inn seemed to be. Oh, the joys of spring in Bree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for reading Chapter 4 -- I hope it's enjoyable and interesting enough to catch your attention. I'm still laying down some things, so this is a bit of a filler before we get into the steamy stuff. I'm currently quarantined for fourteen days, so I should (hopefully) have enough of a drive to get some chapters in during the next few weeks. I appreciate all of the comments and kudos; also, if you have any ideas for future chapters or things you'd like to see happen between our mafia!Thorin and innkeeper!Bilbo, don't hesitate to let me know!


	5. The Front Porch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Bilbo get personal.

Thorin was thinking about Bilbo all the same as he sucked in another breath of tobacco and let it pass to his lungs, but he was also thinking about Frerin. He had always loved places like this; tacky decorations, country charm, cool, spring nights on the porch. Their grandfather, Thrain, lived somewhere similar to this little bed and breakfast in the mountains of Erebor, far away from society (or so he had heard, Thorin didn't remember much of the man), where the Durin family once lived alongside him. His sister remembered a bit more about it, and in Frerin's memory, had set to reveal more about the early days in Erebor to his brother. The home was supposed vast and beautiful, with a view unlike no other.  
But what about the present, and the gorgeous little man inside of the tacky inn? He was spirited and free and reminded Thorin much of a foal just figuring out his legs. It certainly helped to kill the desire that Bilbo was so in love with the inn and it's floral curtains and bedspreads, but that seemed to be but a minor detail when it came to his personality. Bilbo was sweet and a wonderful host, not to mention a good cook. What would he look like stark-naked, making Thorin dinner in the kitchen while they discussed the gossips of the town?  
Before he could settle enough to release the hard-on in his trousers, he heard the screen door open. The man of the hour popped out, barefoot, his own pack of cigarettes in tow. He greeted nervously at his guests and sat at the other chair, keeping his head down and the blush growing to his nose.  
"You are positively brooding," He giggled softly, cradling his hot drink in his hands. "Do you usually look so sour in the face?"  
"What's it to you? You've been blushing like a love-apple since this morning," Mister Durin shot back, his eyes creasing into a scowl. Before Bilbo could make a comment, that heavy laugh escaped into the night once before. "You take hate easy."  
"What can I say? I am an unmarried homosexual in an English country town," Bilbo sipped on his tea, crossing his legs upon the rocker. He wasn't prepared to dump his heart on his houseguest, but it seemed Thorin was as interested in him as he was the handsome, impeccably moody, well-to-do man. "Do you usually pick on B&B owners who make you dinner and allow you to do what it is you please?"  
"I admit I have never met one such as you, Bilbo Baggins. I work for a well-off company in London and we don't have much contact with others besides our coworkers and clients. I have been avoiding calls all evening, choosing to get to know you." Thorin smiled meanly; he knew how to make the young man positively bothered beyond belief.  
"I usually don't speak to my houseguests if they are as disrespectful as you," Sneered the brunette, making a scene of glaring beyond Thorin's eyes and trying to pick his brain.  
"So, you're gay. That's funny because I was going to ask about the bedspread."  
"The bedspread?! What's wrong with it? It's a vintage needle-worked quilt made by my grandmother!" Bilbo almost stood, placing his bare feet on the porch even though it created an awkward angle. "How does that prove my sexuality, Mister Thorin Durin?"  
Thorin looked pained and reached out to steady Bilbo back into the rocker. His hand touched his chest, the warmth spilling off almost instantaneously. "You are positively handsome, Mister Bilbo. I just think that it wouldn't do you wrong to allow your houseguests a more, hmm, neutral bedspread. Some of us enjoy a little touch-and-wank on our vacation if you know what I mean."  
Bilbo's arousal shot to his head, and he rocked forward to tuck his forehead into his palms. What was wrong with this guy? Who gave him the right to stroll into Bilbo's private life like that, when he was a paying guest of Bagshot Row? He barely knew the guy; Thorin wanted to know him in bed already!  
But Thorin remained neutral, his head clear and happy. He adored making Bilbo hot and bothered; it was beyond adorable and amusing. "Bilbo?"  
"Don't... just don't," He all-but whimpered defeat, bringing his head up with stunned, big hazel-green eyes. "You are going to bring me an early death."  
"An early death? You can't be older than thirty."  
"I'm thirty-five. How old are you?"  
"Forty-two."  
"Forty- you look my age! You're a hunk of a guy!"  
"Thank you, Master Baggins. As are you." Thorin smirked, his hand resting on the armrest of Bilbo's chair. Just close enough that Bilbo could see a lack of a wedding band, and gorgeous, thick fingers. Oh, what those could do! "Say, how's about we play a little game? I ask you a question and you answer, and then you do the same."  
"A game, Mister Durin? You are positively beyond me." The young innkeeper had already given in; there was no way he was passing up a chance to get to know more about this prince and it wouldn't hurt to find out if he was... seeing someone. Bilbo had already engraved it in his mind that Thorin was much like him, and enjoyed the company of men. "Fine, I'll play. But I'm going first."  
"That's fair." Thorin nodded, keeping his hand where it was perched and tucking his phone in his pocket. "What would you like to know?"  
"Are you single?"  
"I am. That was what I was hoping you would ask. Do I look single?" He almost laughed, motioning to the sky to represent an audience.  
"No! No... just... I just wanted to know. That's all." Bilbo sighed; the dreamboat was a bachelor!  
"Good question. Now it's my turn..." Tapping at his chin where a scruffy beard was growing in, Thorin thought up his own icebreaker. "Frodo, is he really your nephew?"  
"He's my cousin. His father, Drogo, was raised alongside me like a brother, so when Frodo was born he started calling me 'uncle'. He's nothing short of a nephew to me, either. He's a good boy and I love him to bits. Why do you wonder?"  
"He reminds me of my brother, Frerin, is all. He was always so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He was lost in a family disaster when I was young." Thorin wasn't sure why he was opening up so easily; Bilbo just had that effect on him. "I wasn't sure if I was allowed to say so if he was your son."  
"Oh. Oh Thorin, I'm so sorry. I lost my parents young, too. They left me the place, but it's never been easy knowing how much I missed. How old were you when your Frerin passed?"  
"Eight or nine, I don't remember a lot of the day. Nor the year, but I know my brother was supposed to be turning five that year. Our house was subject to arson, as my dad wasn't a good man at work, and I couldn't get him out." Thorin looked at Bilbo, his look unhatched. His eyes were growing darker, but they weren't holding that broken look as earlier. Bilbo had hit a hard spot in the man's heart.  
Where did he go from here?  
Thorin was happy that the news was off of his chest. It felt good that someone knew about his loss and about Frerin, someone who wasn't affiliated with work. At the Fundin company, nothing stayed with the heart or was kept a secret. Balin and Dwalin knew all that went on inside and out, especially if that person was their consigliere, the inner man of their heinous crimes.  
"My parents were in a car accident. They were just driving to the grocery, they weren't even looking for trouble! A man hit them and the car went into a tree... or so I heard, I never saw it. It hurts Thorin, I know it does. They tell you it's just grief and that it ends, but when-"  
"When does it end? It's been going on for years, decades, and I still feel the same as I did when it happened," Thorin finished for him. He reached out at the tears that were welling up in Bilbo's eyes, flicking them away. "I know how it feels. And... and I will try my best to make it better."  
"Thorin..." Bilbo sighed, his eyes drowning in the blue sea across from him as Durin kept his thumb on his cheek, rubbing softly. It felt new, like little electric sparks were passing through his nerves. "You don't have to."  
"I-I want to," He promised, bringing the smaller man closer to him. Their chests touched but Bilbo was small, so much that he was almost perched in the opposite's lap when they met glances. "I have one more question to ask you. Can I kiss you, Bilbo Baggins?"  
"Please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fast! Here's the next chapter of our soft little story. As always, thank you so much for reading! It means everything to be. Day three of quarantine is in full swing and I'm ready to give into boredom, but I'm trying my hardest to keep myself interested in my stories. I wish you a wonderful day!


	6. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Bilbo have some fun in the sheets, enjoy a morning cuddle, and then decide they might be better apart. Nothing a proper Sunday Shire breakfast can't fix, right?

It was a rainy Sunday morning and the tin roof of Bagshot Row seemed to be taking a beating above. In the upstairs of the inn, the sounds of nature were always louder; the birds perched on the flowerboxes outside of the windows, the owls hooted from the trees outside, and the thunderstorms so rigid it seemed as if Zeus was roaring above the dwelling. 

The rain pattered softly against the hills outside, however, just barely gathering a nicker or a whinny from the ponies as they were tended to with breakfast and dry hay. The residents of Bree were crawling to their cars with colorful umbrellas, dressed modestly, as even the weather wouldn't stop them from attending weekly church. As much as the small circle of religious Bree people hated their morning interrupted by the wrath of wind and sleet, they pleasantly had the Sunday dinner to look forward to. If there was anything Shire-folk loved more than church and good company, it was food. Even Bilbo could admit to that, but this particular morn, he was a little preoccupied.

  
He sighed out a soft yawn and cuddled sleepily into the man next to him, as Thorin snuggled an arm around his torso closer. It felt so nice to finally wake up in a warm bed with a warm man around his body, his deliberate touches and sleepy noises of contentment filling Bilbo's head with pleasurable thoughts. He was beyond comfortable, naked under the bedspread and the thick blanket he'd tossed his new friend after they'd had a good fuck and a shower.

  
He almost laughed at how obscene it was to be laying in his own bed with a stranger. Thorin wasn't particularly one-night-stand material, as they were slowly learning more about each other, but for having known one another no less than a day, it wasn't proper that they had coupled so quickly. He wasn't having second thoughts, however; Thorin had already found the special spots that made him shudder and squeal like a kitten in his embrace, promising another more caring round after the first to redeem his wild urges. He'd more than bruised the little innkeeper, but Bilbo's new bruises would evoke a smile on his face for a few more days that was worth a thousand dollars. 

  
Thorin was just waking up when Bilbo crawled out of the bed, onto his knees to press a gentle kiss upon his mate's forehead. The businessman preened and smiled tiredly, his hand curling around the smaller brunette for a more thorough, tasteful kiss. He was exhausted from the time change and his days of air travel, but his body clock was soon to fix itself after a cup of coffee and a good breakfast.

  
Thorin sighed happily and poked an eye open after the kiss broke, without pressure or hard feelings; it hadn't been a dream, after all! His lips grew in size and he almost fell asleep before remembering he had a gorgeous man above him, awaiting his attention. Maybe he'd take a nice nap later if Bilbo didn't keep him too busy with that pouty expression. 

  
"G'morning," He growled, bringing the brunette down onto the mattress next to him, his teeth biting a mark into Bilbo's earlobe. Bilbo muttered a few curses and hid in the pillow, avoiding Thorin's animalistic behavior. "Are you too sore to wish me a good morning back, love? You don't have to talk if you want to roll over and show me instead." Thorin smirked devilishly when Baggins gave him the bird and tucked himself back into the quilt. 

  
"No, I'm actually fine. Feeling great," He smiled softly, patting Thorin's cheek. "Just thinking."

  
"Are you- are you having second thoughts?" Thorin's face fell and he broke away from playing with one of his friend's curls. His heart stopped for a moment, but Bilbo repaired it after a second of pondering and leisurely thought.

  
"I'm not having second thoughts at all! Last night was wonderful. You were wonderful," Stressed Bilbo, turning to face Thorin. He twitched his nose in adoration when the bigger, dark-haired man chuckled, a happy sigh breaking the silence between them. "Just thinking about how I'm going to have to let you go in a few days. Not all of our work can be from home."

  
"Oh, don't you worry about that, darling." Bringing a thumb to his lips, Thorin parted Bilbo's worried expression and pressed against it a soft peck. "I all but got forced time off of work. I'm sure if I tell Dwalin that I've found a, umm, a distraction in Bree, he'll let me stay another week."

  
"What do you do at work, in that big city? Are you a steelworker?" The brunette pried Thorin's hands from where they were wrapped around his neck and studied them. Looking for signs that Thorin worked them to the bone, he found none and instead a pair of well-cleaned fingernails.

  
"Not exactly," The man sighed, his blue eyes fluttering closed as he thought. He was sure he could trust Baggins with knowing what he did for a living, but he couldn't assure any blood would be spilled in the future if something were to happen, and Bilbo was pulled into Thorin's own messes. "I'm a runner for our business. It's kind... well, it's kind of like being an errand boy, like your Frodo is. I wish I could tell you, but my boss doesn't like outsiders to know the inner workings of what we do."

  
"Thorin! Are you- are you in the mafia?"

  
"No! No..." It wasn't exactly a "mafia" type of deal, but the Fundin brothers were known for being notoriously rich in their illegal exports. They were a private duo and famous for being neurotic enough about the spread of information that their employees went equipped with illegal weaponry whenever they left the building. They had even given Thorin three guns and a dagger to take with him to Bree; just in case he would find himself in any trouble. "It's hard to explain. It's nothing I would want you to worry about."

  
"I am worried about it. I'm worried about us -- we had sex and you won't even tell me what it is you do. You could be a serial killer."

  
"Bilbo," Thorin almost cackled and tried to pull Bilbo's hands into his own, but the younger man frowned and shoved them away. "I promise I am not a serial killer. It's not easy for me to keep secrets from you, you know that. If I could tell you what I did, I would! I told you about Frerin and the fire, and..."

  
"I'm sorry, but I have it good here. I don't want to be romantically affiliated with someone if they're keeping secrets... especially if it could put me or Frodo at risk..." Bilbo tucked his face into his palms, groaning loudly. "Why am I so goddamn stupid, kissing my inn guests..."

  
A kiss was returned to shut him up; Bilbo melted into it. It was so easy to lose himself in Thorin when he was so charming, so handsome, so compassionate. So honest. But honestly wasn't going to get him everything he wanted; if it was going to hurt him, he was going to do all he could to cast Thorin far, far away from Bree. 

  
"Thorin! Stop it." Tears were welling up in Bilbo's green eyes and he sniffled, hiding in the pillow. Thorin felt absolutely pained; he hadn't met to cause all of this trouble! He liked Bilbo, liked everything about him! He was a rare spectacle when it came to to the usual crowd that Thorin was familiar with, and he had welcomed him so easily into his heart. Couldn't he accept that sometimes, people had to keep secrets?

  
"Bilbo, love. Love, calm down," Sitting up in the bed, Thorin kneeled down to lift the small boy from his cocoon of blankets, wiping the tears away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."  
"You are GOING to hurt me, Thorin Durin!"

  
"I know. But I hope to only hurt you if it's going to protect you in the future. Balin and Dwalin would... they would probably do some very bad things to you if they found out you even knew their names. But I told you, so I trust you with that information." Thorin hoped that Bilbo wouldn't use the information to his advantage, but it was all he had to try and patch up the situation. "You have to trust me that if you want to make this work."

  
"What are you implying? I thought... I thought we were just going for being bed partners." His voice shattered, Bilbo's resolve sunk as he saw the older man lift a brow, and laugh. "What? Why is this funny?"

  
"Because you're damn cute, and I didn't hand over my virginity last night just to hear you cry about being my one-night-stand."

  
"You lost your- what? That's- you are lying." Sneering like a mammal, Bilbo stared into the blue sea of Thorin's eyes once again, looking for signs that he was joking. But he didn't seem to do; he was just wearing that stupid fucking smirk again! The big devil. "You have to be joking. Thorin, you are old! You are handsome and you... you were so good... I thought..."

  
"Thanks. Last night, you told me I looked good for my age." Wrapping an excited innkeeper in his big arms, Thorin smiled at the wash of relief in his heart and peppered kisses down Bilbo's face. The brunette giggled and kissed back on the lips. 

  
"You know I'm joking! Did you- did you really lose your virginity last night? To me? You barely know me."

  
"To a man, yes. I have had sex with women, but I don't... get around much. As I said, my work life isn't separate from my private life." He admitted, drawing out his words to assure Bilbo wasn't going to freak out on him again. "I figured I wasn't going to pass on the chance. Bilbo, you are one in a million. You are handsome and sweet, and I love how upset you get about the smallest things! No, I know we don't know each other very much, but it wouldn't hurt to build on that the next few days, hm?"

  
"This is all moving so fast," Rising from the bed, Bilbo grabbed for his trousers and a robe, dressing before Thorin could protest. He didn't seem distant, however, and strutted over to pull the businessman into a tight kiss. "You must be hungry. Why don't we go have some breakfast?"

  
"Are we moving too fast? I didn't mean to rush anything-" Thorin promised, climbing to his feet and avoiding falling into Bilbo's arms as soon as he was dragged into a hug. "No?"

  
"No, it's okay. I like you too! I just figured we might feel better about the whole idea clean with full bellies." He grinned, taking Thorin's hand and leading him to the bathtub. "And we could release a little bit of this tension between us, hm?"

  
Eyeing the hard-on Thorin had already grown, the couple broke into a fit of chuckles, stripped, and made a beeline for the little bathroom. It seemed they had a lot of talking to do about their brand new relationship, but intimacy was for sure not going to be a problem. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! This chapter has a lot going on and things are moving quickly for the two. I purposely wanted to have Thorin and Bilbo experience each other intimately before they made more mature decisions -- the two of them are naturally inseparable and it wouldn't hurt to break the norm about developing a relationship! As always, enjoy, and thank you for reading! Comments and suggestions are always suggested and I love hearing what you guys think about the story!


	7. Playing Domestic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Bilbo play domestic. Frodo is concerned about his uncle's early commitment, but he finds that the mysterious businessman is growing on him.

When Frodo sauntered down the long, winding staircase of Bagshot Row after shooting a still-sleeping Samwise a text regarding their afternoon adventures, he was sure to find a sulking businessman and a blushy, apprehensive Bilbo Baggins having an awkward breakfast. Instead, he was certain he detected something along the lines of a giggle... and was that a breathy moan?! 

Toeing barefoot across the living room, the teenager sunk into the deepest armchair and put his feet up, careful not to end the escapade in the kitchen. From where he could catch a glance at the two, Mister Durin was in front of a frying pan with what smelled like bacon cooking, and Bilbo was in a fit of laughter at the image, his own biscuit dough spilling over onto the counter. It seemed as if they were getting along well; maybe not in terms of what he expected from the first impression, but Thorin was a big, bad Londoner. His rental car parked outside and his current outfit of a collared shirt and trousers was enough to turn a country chap like his uncle away. Of course, Bilbo was allowed to have his private reservations with whomever he chose, but a businessman? That wasn't along the lines of what he was looking for in his own dating profile.

"G-Good morning, Frodo!" A flustered, still-chuckling Bilbo was surprised to find his nephew curled in the sitting room listening in, but he was glad to share the day with the young man just as much as he was his houseguest. "Breakfast should be done soon! And you have the day off -- Thorin and I are going to do some sightseeing around town, so I can grab the mail and the groceries when we go out."

Thorin waved from the kitchen, the bacon smoking as if it was burning. Bilbo turned rapidly on his feet. "T-Thorin! You're going to overcook it!"

Frodo decided to spend his day out of his uncle and... well, Thorin was quickly becoming immersed in the household, but he wasn't at friend-level yet. He still gave Frodo a bit of a cold feeling in his spine. Maybe it was his empty blue eyes or his tailored demeanor, but it would take some getting used to before he accepted the Londoner as a colleague. 

He decided to pass on Sam's suggestion of going to nearby Michel Delving and looking at a litter of farm collies; Bilbo was never going to let him have a puppy, anyway, and it seemed absurd for a rainy Sunday morning like today. He decided to stay in and catch up on some reading, cracking open an old copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' and digging in while Thorin and Bilbo were away in Bree. 

In the nearby Old Forest, the two men walked side-by-side, giggling all about and talking about nothing in particular. The rain had cleared up and it seemed a lovely day for a walk; except for Bilbo's occasional limp in his step and Thorin pressing nips at his neck, it was nothing two friends wouldn't do in Bree. 

"Are you enjoying the countryside?" Bilbo wondered aloud, stopping to rest his feet and sitting in the plush, damp grass under a large oak tree. 

"It's really something. It reminds me of my grandfather's land in Erebor; he was fond of open spaces and quiet. But, I don't think I could live here," Thorin muttered, admitting defeat.

Bilbo looked up, his mouth making a little 'o'. He was hoping Thorin would at least stay another week; it would help Bilbo figure out his feelings. And possibly, his desires as well. "Why not?"

"I am wearing a suit and dress shoes on a sunny forest hike," He pointed out, pointing to his leather boots which were now caked with brown mud. "It's a nice thought, but I already miss the city."

"Oh. Are you from London originally?"

"No, actually. I'm from Ered Luin. I was born in Erebor, the mountains, as my mother and father are family-people and we lived with my grandfather. But he grew ill after the fire, and we moved to Ered Luin. I consider London home, however."

"What languages did you speak there?"

"In Ered Luin? The natives of both Erebor and my home speak three -- Khudzul, our native tongue, English and German. We stationed a lot of soldiers during the second war, so the German is newer." Thorin emphasized, muttering in his native Khudzul and eliciting a grin from Bilbo.

"It's a lovely language," He gaped, reaching out to touch his own lips. "What I'd give to speak something like that."

"You flatter me," The man chuckled, squeezing his shoulder. "I'd be happy to tell you anything about my home."

"I've never lived anywhere but the Shire." Sheepishly, Bilbo shot Thorin a tight smile. "You must think me mad for not knowing where either of those places are."

"Of course I don't think you mad," He touched a thumb to the brunette's lips, pressing a gentle kiss there and breaking away to sit next to him against the tree trunk. "Erebor is quite far away from here; it's practically desolate now that my grandfather passed. Ered Luin isn't far from Bree and the countryside, it's in the Blue Mountains, but I couldn't imagine ever leaving somewhere like Bree if I were you."

"And why is that?" Bilbo rested his head on Thorin's shoulder, his voice a mutter as it was only the two of them in the forest. 

Thorin shrugged, carding fingers through those golden curls and humming. "It's beautiful here. It suits you."

"Sap," The smaller man chuckled, smacking Thorin on the wrist. "Let's go see the farmer's market. I'm starving. And we have much, much to catch up on at home."

"And what would you have me do with these muddied boots once we get back to your place, Master Baggins?"

Bilbo drew a lewd grin, arousal pooling in his trousers. He hadn't been so happy in ages, but he knew deep down that it wasn't to last. Thorin was too different; he wasn't Shire-made, and although Bilbo was sure he thought the same way when it came to their bond as companions, a relationship at this point was like pouring oil on water. He had to make the best of Thorin's ruthless desire. "You will just have to hold your breath, Mister Durin. I have to use the rest of these days we have to drive you absolutely mad."

"And you may drive me as mad as you wish," Purred the businessman, bringing himself to stand and shuffle with his phone, which had been ringing since 7 this morning. He'd been cursing the moment where he actually needed to answer, as work summoned he not forget about his job while on holiday. Bilbo's peaceful expression finally got the best of him, and he answered on the fourth ring, passing his friend an eye-roll. "I'll see you later at the house. Hello? Dwalin?"

Sighing at their moment ruined, the innkeeper brushed off his trousers and pressed a quick kiss to Thorin's cheek, running off in the direction of the house. At least they'd had a day where he wasn't burdened by Thorin's work's constant mystery. He figured he'd do some stress-baking, as Thorin had been eyeing the recipe of lemon cupcakes since Bilbo had brought it out the evening before. 

Retrieving the ingredients from the pantry when he returned, the man preheated the oven and went to start a pot of coffee. Shocked to find that Frodo was home, reading in the study, he smiled and piled in a few more scoops, knowing they hadn't yet had that proper talk about Mister Durin. 

"Frodo, I'm home!" He chimed in cheerfully, poking his head through the veranda where his nephew was curled up sleepily, Jane Austen perched on his lap. "You're looking more like me every time I see you reading in my chair, you know."

Frodo rolled a lip and rose, bringing the book back to the shelf. "How was your morning, Uncle? Where's Thorin? I saw you two playing domestic at breakfast."

"Your mother says the same thing, "playing domestic"! Good god..."

"Sorry," His face growing with a dirty grin, the boy followed his uncle out into the kitchen and made them both coffee, two cups with milk and sugar. "Sam and I are growing nosy about you two, you know. You seem happy."

"Immeasurably. Thorin and I went for a walk behind the property, and we were having a nice time until he got a phone call from his boss. I figured we could make some cupcakes while he was gone, hm?" Bilbo ushered to the supplies he'd set out on the counter, brushing a few stray curls behind his ears. He was still wearing a constant blush, but his heart had stopped beating as heavily as it was since meeting a handsome Londoner. "I am happy. I like him. Do you like him?"

Noticing his uncle's face had grown redder, Frodo cackled and shrugged his shoulders. "He seems nice. Are you sure you aren't moving too fast?"

Bilbo pursed his lips, sifting the butter with a fork to soften it. Of course, he was moving too fast; he was enthralled with Thorin Durin, with him being so new and refreshing and not what Bree was always giving him as guests. He was wounded and broody and had a knack for turning his legs into pure jelly with one look. Surely that wasn't all he needed from a relationship, but he was going to enjoy it the short time it lasted. "We are, but he's not staying. He has to go back to work, so... so it's not like we're going to see each other again."

"This is a fling? Uncle, does he know?" 

"I don't know," He sighed, stopping his motions and staring into the granite. "I mean, no. He's... planning on coming to visit again, sometime during the fall..."

Frodo raised an eyebrow; he was positive his uncle knew better than having a one-night stand with one of his customers and then going ahead with throwing away his heart once he left. Besides, Bilbo liked him! It was better than being a bachelor, trying, and he was sure he and Sam were going to have to do some investigative business to ensure Mister Durin knew how Bilbo felt; really felt, not just registered with his lips. "Do you not want him to stay here?"

"Of course I want him to stay here! He's... amazing. He's so sweet and gentle with me... I would very much like him to stay here and never leave, but he has an important job." Dropping his frown, the man replaced it with a reassuring smile, throwing it in Frodo's direction. "Don't worry, Frodo, we'll go visit him!"

Ignoring the chill he got again from thinking of Mister Durin and his dark eyes, the teenager just piped in an 'okay, cool' to his uncle and distracted himself with the baking. Once the cupcakes were done and frosted, Bilbo left to make the beds, and Frodo cleaned the kitchen in his stead, not at all surprised to find that Thorin snuck in the back door, wearing a worried look.

"Your uncle?" He muttered, tucking his suit jacket in the closet. Frodo motioned upstairs, scrubbing away at the muffin pan. "Is he okay? You seem tense."

"I'm perfectly fine," The boy assured, wiping his hands on the towel and moving to take Thorin's boots to the sunroom, lest the mud would get onto the nice rugs that Bilbo loved so dearly. "I was just thinking."

"I see," Thorin cast a smile in his direction, deciding to sit at the table instead of searching for his lover. Frodo found it odd, but he nonetheless made the businessman a cup of coffee and sat down alongside him. "I heard you were from London. Were you born there?"

"Here, actually. My mother is from Bree originally and my father is a traveling salesman, so we've moved around. London has been the longest we've lived somewhere, though."

"Ah. Do you like it there?"

"It's great!" Frodo announced, missing the city a little bit as he imagined the grand Eye and the parliament building. "We live in Marylebone, just around the corner from the Holmes museum. I go to Wetherby, for school."

"Really? My cousin graduated from there. It's a wonderful school, I drive past the grounds sometimes," Thorin reveals, sipping on his coffee. "I see you share your uncle's love for literature, what's your favorite thing to do at school?"

"I'm in the drama club," The boy admits with a blush. Although his parents thought the hobby was very lame and wished he played sports, it had been his uncle in the first place that found his nephew's love for plays and theatre. He was well into his third season of drama, having had the lead before the summer break in their production of _Look Back In Anger_. "My parents don't share my love, but I wish to go to film school after I'm done at Wetherby."

"An acceptable, prestigious hobby," Mister Durin muttered, impressed. "I wish you all the luck, little one."

"Thanks," Piped Frodo, his chest warming at the compliment. Besides the fact that that look still haunted him, he could see why Bilbo liked Thorin so much. He was talkative and intelligent and remembered things that usually would go over a guest of the inn's head. "Where did you grow up in the city?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm not from London either. Ered Luin, actually. When we were younger, my sister and I were left to stay with our cousins, the ones that went to your school, and their parents in London, so we could go to a more elegant school," Explained the businessman, his hands moving as he spoke. "When I graduated, I was hired to work for the company that their father worked for. My sister is now married to my boss, Dwalin, and they have a baby boy."

"You're an uncle, too?" Bilbo had been listening in to the last half of that sentence, strolling into the kitchen and placing a kiss on Thorin's head, which he reciprocated with a happy hum. "How was your phonecall? How old is your nephew? What's his name?"

Chuckling, the businessman pulled out his chair and brought the younger man into his lap, his hands naturally wrapping around his plump waist. "His name is Vinnie. He just turned two not last month; I assure you we had a massive party. He calls me Uncle Thorn because Dis says I'm as sharp as one. And my phonecall was fine, thank you, love."

"That is absolutely precious," Bilbo beamed, rising from his lap after pressing another kiss. "Your sister seems like a firecracker. I made you cupcakes, would you two like one?"

"She most certainly is, and I'd love one."

Eating their desserts with warm milk, Bilbo pitched an idea after Frodo mentioned wanting to stay for dinner with Sam and his family that evening, as his mother was making a massive sugar ham. "Why don't we go to the Green Dragon tomorrow night? The three of us. And Sam can come too, of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry about the delay of this chapter -- I have been busy working and getting back into the swing of schoolwork. I recently bought a little e-reader as well, and so I have been distracted with reading more than writing, not that I'm upset about that! Hope you all are doing well and surviving these cold winter months. Comments and suggestions always welcome :)


	8. The Skeleton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin leads a mousey investigation on Thorin and Bilbo's blossoming relationship, and Thorin's sister, Dis, is prompted to be the cat.

Dwalin was scouring the hallways of the _Sarkhuh_ , doing his usual overseeing of the forge where his numerous employees were clad in black tunics, pressing steel into guns and weapons of the sort. The clientele had been demanding more handguns than actual war weapons recently; they had turned from making his brother's specialty machete design and into machine guns, which were more of his suiting if he was being honest. There was something notable about holding a murder weapon in his bare hands, his son and wife in mind during target practice.

Although he wasn't suited to carry the massive guns that were currently being produced in his own building, he still enjoyed spending his free time watching and inspecting. It gave him a sense of power, knowing all of this was for him. His employees treated him and Balin like kings of a modern monarchy, trusting that they had absolutely everything they needed before getting any actual work done.

Which reminded him of his own duty as the boss man; he needed to check in on his brother-in-arms and fellow consigliere, the inside mind of the Fundin Corporation, Thorin Durin. He had been almost glad that his friend finally admitted to needing a holiday, as his constant tremors of lost sleep and hunger were starting to affect his alertness. Twice in the past month, Thorin had been the cause of a minor slip-up in his driving duties, picking up the wrong party of newly-escaped criminals and delivering not one, but two illegal weapons to the door of a Chinese restaurant. It wasn't something that would be impossible to cover up, as Dwalin just had the criminals use the sewers and the cooks of the joint hung in a nearby closet, but it was still creating unnecessary disturbances.

The Fundin brothers had grown up under the watchful eye of the _Uzbad_ , their father's lord in their native language, and assistant to all-things coming in and out of the business. They had no mother but numerous cousins, aunts, and uncles, as to which they were never actually related to, but were named in the name of the family as a business transaction or a set of romantic circumstances. Nonetheless, living above the operations of their father's company was nothing short of fairytales. They lived like princes and were regarded as being the most precious matters relating to the company; Balin and Dwalin were rewarded titles such as "little majesty" or "his lordship", and still received the occasional old-timer who recognized the now-grown boys and all-but bowed gracefully to them in greeting.

Dwalin finished up his walk and retreated back up the elevator into the offices above. The company was situated on the first three floors of a century-old office building, Northern London, and was inconspicuous as long as the occasional inspector was aware. The basement was where the real trouble went on; the rest of the Fundin Company was like any other. It had office cubicles and ringing phones, a nice maid who delivered coffees and documents off of the printer. There were a sitting room and two corner offices, which was where Dwalin was heading when he noticed his brother, his plump figure bickering along on the telephone, face beet-red and angry as he discussed business.

Balin was the calmer of the two, being older and wiser. He usually had matters of his own pertaining to the company's image and concealed nature and could spend hours in his office shooting emails and drinking down tea, which he took with two sugars and a drop of milk. This is why Dwalin was taken aback when his brother seemed so out-of-place, yelling like that across the line, the assistants getting confused as he slurred out native curses and flopped his hands about.

"Is everything alright?" The younger brother wondered, poking his head into Balin's office where he finally ended up collapsed in a chair. Off of the phone now, the stout, white-haired man sighed a few more colorful words and nodded his head.

"It isn't easy having our consigliere on a holiday," He admits with a chuckle. "He has been gone not two days, and the security team has found that Thorin has been... busy."

"Is he not laying on a lake somewhere, getting a sunburn?"

"That's just the problem. He didn't go to Erebor or back home to Ered Luin, for that matter. He's in "The Shire"." Rolling his eyes, Balin pulled out his tablet and ushered a picture to his brother. Green meadows and ponies dotted the scenery, incredibly beautiful but unlike what Thorin usually chose for a day off.

"Looks boring," Dwalin shrugged, sitting down on the opposite end of the desk and shooting Dis a text that he would be late coming home tonight. Vinnie was being a particularly difficult two-year-old now that the summer was coming, and he had been driving his mother off and over the walls, wanting to go outside in the rain. "What's he doing there?"

"The fact that I forgot that he's... homosexual, makes this incredibly more humorous. This is Bilbo Baggins." Another picture was pulled up, black and white, of a curly-haired countryman walking through the town's market, Thorin next to him with a dopey grin over his chiseled face. "Security says that he seems harmless, but that he's been prying Thorin open like a new book. Thorin is staying at his inn; it seems as if they've already coupled and are quite taken with each other."

"So... what? They're having a fling?" Dwalin furrows an eyebrow, motioning for the PR to forward him the security photos taken today. He would have to do some digging to find out more about this... Mister Baggins. "We can't have that. Thorin knows better."

"I know he does. Which is why I'm sending you to go get him." Balin shot a dirty grin, knowing the humor had all but left his brother's face, now replaced with a furious scowl.

"Go get him? He only just left two days ago." Standing from the desk, Dwalin motioned to the window, peering outside at the London skyline below. "Do we have any other options?"

"We could... get rid of this man..." Balin sighed, and shut his computer lid, leaning back in the chair with his hands folded over his chest. "We can't afford to have Thorin leak anything about what's going on here, but I don't think this Bilbo poses any immediate harm to the safety of the company."

"That sounds... satisfactory? I'm not sure." Dwalin pondered, stroking back on his mustache. Thorin hadn't actually done much wrong; he had been known to be overly cautious when it came to relationships, the forever-bachelor of the Durin's. Dis was always poking fun at her oldest brother about his marriage-status, wondering when she'd be getting a new brother-in-law and a pack of adopted babies to follow in their father's footsteps at the company. Dwalin was almost relieved that Thorin had met someone, but the situation was too risky. He would let his consigliere have the next one, he assured himself. Yes. Bilbo would have to go, and eventually, Thorin would forget all about it. It was for the good of his career, nevertheless. "Let me shoot him a phone call. I'm sure he's already aware of all of the security we have posted around him. No need to remove his friend from the picture until we can get him up to speed."

"Would you like me to tell Dis?"

"For god sakes, no." The brother chuckled, imagining the look on his wife's face when she found out that they were... disposing of Thorin's first crush in a long time. She would no doubt swing a frying pan over Balin's head and tell both of the siblings that they were absolutely bonkers, beyond nuts, doing something like that to her brother dearest. "Best keep it to ourselves until we can do it properly."

"What of the boy?" Balin motioned to a smaller version of the innkeeper, who had been spotted in the realm of Durin's smiles a few times already. "From what I know, he is Baggins' nephew. I don't know how much he knows, but even the little ones pose a threat, you know."

"I do know," Dwalin sighed, taking a coffee from the assistant and tapping at it with his large fingers. "Leave that to me. I'll send someone to bring Thorin up to speed. In regards to the man and the boy, well, do what you can. I figure we won't go unscathed when Thorin finds out that the two of them are... no longer allowed to speak freely."

Thorin had known since he examined the blocked call on his phone that morning that they had been found out. He had been aware that he wasn't alone in Bree, with the black cars parked in strange parking lots and following a mile behind Bilbo's old truck. Of course, he wasn't going to be left to his own desires if he went on holiday, but he expected nothing less. Dwalin's team had been keeping their distance, and it seemed Bilbo hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary happening in his little town. He was wary about the phone call, nonetheless, but Thorin promised to tell him all about it... sometime.

The call wasn't the least bit unexpected, but unsettling when he remembered the sweet man waiting for him not a hundred yards away.

Dwalin, the gentlemen that he wasn't, had shouted no more than ten curses about Bilbo Baggins and the importance of keeping his life private; they had already found out about him, so it seemed, but Thorin wasn't one-hundred-percent they'd just leave it with that. Bilbo going unscratched, of course, was a silly thing to imagine in the beginning. He couldn't turn back now. He had accepted that it wasn't going to be easy...

"We are taking the necessary precautions to ensure that Mister Baggins and his nephew will not be seeing you again."

"I figured as such," Thorin chuckled uneasily as he paraded through the park, his shoes caked in that fresh Bree mud that he'd come to appreciate. "I intend to come home a bachelor once again. I'm just... enjoying myself here, you know? He's a very nice guy, Dwalin."

"I'm sure he is, my friend. But you know better." The boss warned, his voice dropping low.

Thorin broke out in a sigh; this was ending much too soon. "I do, don't I? I admit it was silly that I even intended to kiss Bilbo when I did, but... well, what can I say? He has quite the knack for making me break even the toughest rules of yours."

"What of your headaches?" Dwalin switched the subject, securing that his employee was back in full health before he dragged him back to the city. "Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm fine, mate," He smiled softly, thinking about the man waiting for him back at the little inn. "Been sleeping in. He feeds me well; it'll be a shame to come back and deal with Bombur's cooking. How's my sister?"

"Good, good. The little one is great... he misses his _Irak'Adad_ , though," The man pouted, attempting to sound desperate. Thorin knew better than to fall for it, but his nephew's bright smile always made him feel better about his job. Just a little.

"I bet he does. Tell him I'll be home soon." Reassuring himself that the present was going to be a memory of the past, and that happiness was temporary, was already bringing on a new headache. Rubbing his temples, Thorin tucked his phone into his shirt pocket. "Oh, and Dwalin?"

"Pardon?"

"Do me a favor. When you, umm... remove Bilbo, can you... not hurt him? I mean, I understand the protocol, he's going to have to be, umm..."

"I'll have Balin take care of him, okay? Nothing to worry. I know he makes you happy," Dwalin admitted, sucking a breath in on the other line. "He will perhaps be more gentle than I would be. Enjoy the rest of your vacation; I'll be in touch."

"Thanks, boss," The brunette lamented, noticing Bilbo's shadow from the upstairs window when he approached the inn. Brown curls were his weakness already, and he couldn't get enough of the notion that the man was making the bed for another... escapade. "Take care."

"You too. Enjoy him for a bit... it'll make things easier on my end."

"Will do, Dwalin. Hey, could you forward something to Dis for me?"

The boss swallowed. "I don't play in-between. You may be my brother-in-law, but just because your dearest sister shares my last name doesn't make us friends, Thorin Durin."

Thorin cackled to himself at that; he knew the minute that he brought up Dis, Dwalin would turn into a puddle of emotion. His sister was the tough one of the two of them. If Thorin was the King, and Frerin the Peacemaker, that left Dis to clean up after the two of them and their not-so glorious messes. "I understand that. Let her know I called. I miss her, with you and Vinnie keeping her up in her forbidden castle."

"Thorin, your sister is safe. That's all that I want for her. She..."

"Married into the wrong business, I know. But she loves you, Dwalin. You're doing great.""

"I needed to hear that. Thanks, Thorin. You're a good mate. Hey, what did you want me to tell her again?"

"Just that I'm going to enjoy my vacation, and that I wish to speak to her."

"Got it. I'll send her a text now. Have a good one; I'll tell Balin not to do anything about Bilbo... yet."

"Thanks, mate."

_Easy as that_ , Thorin grinned, slipping through the back door of the inn, no doubt trailing mud and twigs onto the old wood floors, polished to-a-t. Not that it was going to be easy to keep his boss' men from ruining his life, but, well, it couldn't hurt to have his sister buy them some time. Speaking of time, he owed some to the innkeeper who had been waiting so patiently for his return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I have been busy with the usual distractions, but doing a tentative watching of 'The Stranger' has left me thinking about all of the trouble Richard Armitage always tends to get himself into. His Adam inspires my Thorin in this story immensely; he is so sweet but so, so broody! *pleased sigh* Anyway, all of the best to you, readers! Enjoy the chapter.


	9. Redemption & Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Bilbo enjoy a romp in the sheets (again). Everything goes to hell at the Green Dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, guys! This chapter is finally done! First of all, how does this already have almost 700 reads? I can't even understand why people like this thing (joking, but thanks so much for the support!) I have been so caught up in my head lately; I've been meaning to finish this since I started it about a week ago, but life happens. Anyways, this one finally lets me change the rating of the fic to mature, lol... Some smut and violence in this chapter. Regardless, enjoy! Kudos and comments are always welcome -- I adore you guys!

"Thorin!" Bilbo squealed like a kitten, laughing hysterically as the man loomed above him, pressing him into the plush mattress amongst a sea of florals. Peppering down his bare chest with kisses, the businessman conceded to enjoying his innkeeper, encircling a soft bite to his nipple. The brunette absolutely whinnied, sounding like a pony in heat. "Ahh... Y-You are going to be the death of me! Stop it!"

"You are so cute when you're flustered," Thorin smirked, his chin resting on Bilbo's stomach as he eyed the stimulated look in his pupils. "Does it feel good when I touch you..." Stroking the front of his jeans, the older man elicited a yelp. "-here?'

"Yes! Oh my god, yes..."

"What about..." Dipping his hand inside, Thorin tugged gently on his boxers. He could feel Bilbo's hardness; it was so obvious as it strained against his fingertips, and he smiled in satisfaction as more moans sputtered out. "Now?"

"We have dinner plans, you know..." The Shire-born complained, his hands balling in the sheets. The air in the bedroom grew warmer as Thorin teased, the windows seeming to fog as Bilbo desired more, more, more. "More," he gulped. "T-Touch... there..."

"Dinner plans, hm? I figured you and I could... have some dinner in here. God knows you're all I need to eat." Dipping a finger inside of the warmth, the businessman stroked his entrance, and Bilbo was lost in passion as soon as he caved. " _Mahal,_ you're so tight."

"I haven't had anyone but you in a long t-time," He choked out, fingers carding through Thorin's dense black locks, which had just recently been trimmed short to his ears. "Please, I-I need..."

"What do you need, _ghivashel?_ "

Those words, that language brought Bilbo to a hilt, his eyes rolling back inside of his skull as the man breached him with a second finger; a thick thumb was prodding for entrance. It stung, not sensitive, but Bilbo had known since that first time with Thorin that it was difficult for him to be gentle. He didn't _want_ gentle, anyway, but he was still sore from earlier. 

"I need, y-you..." Tears pricking his eyes, Bilbo cried in arousal. His belly was tight with knowing, close already as he was pulled at from the inside out. "Fuck me, Thorin!"

"God, I could never say no to you, love," Purred the beast above, yanking his trousers down. "It is going to be very, _very_ hard to stop me if I do."

"D-Don't stop. Ever. I- _God,_ that's it, that's-"

Bilbo hadn't seen stars since he fell out of that tree at age six.

"You look so handsome!" The innkeeper purred happily, his eyes like street lamps. Thorin was decked out in the usual modest country fashion -- brown trousers and a white button-up, his hair whisked behind his ears in a sea of gel. He had forgone the suspenders that Bilbo recommended he wear, but after a visit to the local mercantile, he had tiny gold labels on his collar to make up for the absent accessory. "Thorin Durin, you'll make Rosie Cotton choke."

"I look ridiculous," He chuckled, picking up the small man and bringing him onto the mattress. Pressing a modest kiss to his lips, Thorin whispered sweet-nothings. "Does Miss Cotton know that you're mine?"

"She doesn't have to know a thing. I think it's quite obvious," Grinned Bilbo, patting Thorin's cheeks. Dipping in for another kiss, he swatted the brunette's greedy hands away from his ass. "Come on! We have reservations, we'll be late."

"Bilbo, wait. Wait," Thorin stopped him, cupping his face. "Can I do something?"

"I... of course. What is it?" He wondered obliviously, green eyes beaming in curiosity. The man hummed and brought his hands to Bilbo's hair, tucking away a few pieces of the lush brown curls until he found a proper strand. "A-Are you braiding my hair?"

Thorin nodded simply. "It's, well, it's custom from where I come from to braid the hair of one's newest courting." He worked at fastening a beautiful braid, the pleats so delicate and intricate and unknown. Bilbo almost choked with happiness. 

"I noticed you had a few in your hair, even after you cut it. What do they mean?"

"I have three. This one is my family crest, it dates back hundreds of years," Explained the businessman, plucking out his longest braid. It was similar to that of a German crest pattern, one's painted on the old chapels. "And one from my sister, it's a bit of a joke. She thought I'd be a bachelor forever. And this one my mother did when I was young. It's what we call an _Amad Duym,_ a mother's blessing."

"That's so sweet. I'd love to know more about Ered Luin; you seem so... well, outdated!"

"Outdated?" Thorin raised an eyebrow.

Bilbo blushed in embarrassment. "I mean... traditional! Yes. That's the word."

"All done," He beamed, showing Bilbo the new braid situated along with his right ear. It was triangular, with a trickling pattern like a waterfall, and fastened with a wooden bead that Thorin had in his own hair before he chopped it. "I'm sure it's obvious that we do things very differently, but the traditions of my hometown have never grown... modern."

"Neither have we. We Shire people are simple people, we don't go on many adventures or do anything unexpected," The man explained as he pulled on his shoes and took Thorin by the hand, kissing it gently. "However, I feel I might do something quite unexpected tonight. Care to be my date to dinner?"

Situated below the hills of cottages, The Green Dragon Pub stood as not only the most famous bar in all of the Shire, but the only one indeed. It was a social endeavor; the Bree people didn't just go to for a meal, they went to mingle, to discuss the local gossip while having a pint, but of course, to stuff their faces with liver sandwiches and cheese soup. 

Thorin felt out of place as soon as he ducked, no, squatted in through the doorway into a dark, warm restaurant. It smelled damp, like old boots, but the soothing aroma of steak and ale soon took over, and he felt lightheaded. He had never been in a place where all eyes were on him, at least not in the city, where space was so limited you had to share a chair with your mate at the bar. When Bilbo kissed his cheek, the slightest peck as they were led to their table in the corner, the waitress almost suffocated. 

"Uncle, can I have a pint?" Frodo wondered, his hands fiddling nervously on top of the table. Sam was tucked into his menu, cautiously avoiding the glare of Thorin across the table, who was attempting to make conversation but had turned the discussion to intimacy instead of crop production in Ered Luin.

Bilbo grinned. "I suppose if Thorin is okay with it."

Raising an eyebrow from where he was stirring his straw uneasily, the brunette frowned. "Okay with what, love?"

"Frodo wants to have a beer or two, but he's not of age yet."

"Why does that matter to me?"

"I'm just pretending, you little beast," Nickered the man, slugging him in the shoulder. "One, Frodo. And Sam can have one as well, as long as he comes home with us and asks his parents. I don't want to get in trouble for letting you two drink to your heart's delight."

"Thanks, Uncle Bilbo," Sam rolled his eyes, shooting bullets at the waitress as he waved her over from the bar. Frodo greedily ordered for the two of them, winking humorously as his friend requested a cocktail and muttered something about beer making his worst parts come out.

"This is nice," Thorin hummed, glancing around at the liveliness of the restaurant. The people were laughing and dancing, playing pool... it reminded him of an evening at Dwalin's with his sister and their friends, just the regular, simple fun that adults had. Sam and Frodo had run off to converse with some of their friends, their smiles genuine as they flirted considerately with each other and made the ladies flush. He caught the eyes of a stranger across the room, amongst the smoke of the pipes, and a shudder fell through to his spine. He was positive he'd seen the man before. "I meant to ask you something."

"Hm?" Murmured the brunette next to him, sliding him a lovely-looking meat pie. 

"Are Frodo and Sam actually... like, are they an item?"

Bilbo laughed sharply, lowering his spoon to poke at his vegetable soup. "They do this every summer. Frodo likes to be the center of attention, and he and Sam have been close since they were toddlers. As soon as he goes home in the fall, they won't exchange but a few texts."

Chewing, Thorin watched the boys, seemingly enchanted with each other. He found it shocking that Bilbo wasn't pushing Frodo to be more open with his feelings that he undoubtedly had for his best mate. "That's kind of sad. They're, I mean, neither of them are interested in women, right?"

"I wonder the same. I think Sam is homosexual, but his parents would never allow him to be open about it. Frodo looks up to me, but he's shy with his feelings," Explained Bilbo, raising an eyebrow about Thorin's roguish smirk. "Did you tell him something about what we do in private?"

"Of course not! I just figure if he takes after you, then he must be absolutely _pining_ over Sam..."

"Are you saying I pinedafter you?" He scoffed, smacking his lover across the wrist. "You kissed me first!"

"I did, you're right. Do you mind if I talk to Frodo about it? My parents never knew that I was in the closet, and I was buried deep in there by the time they passed..." He sighed, tapping his fingers across Bilbo's thigh. 

"Of course I don't mind, you are so sweet." Purring softly, the smaller man kissed Thorin on the lips, invading his worries about the second man he's found in the pub that he recognizes. After a moment of not reciprocating, Bilbo pecks him again, honey ale dripping off of his tongue. "Thorin?"

"Sorry." Pulling away, Thorin frowns, giving the eye to the muscle who scoffs at their kiss. He licks his lips, remembering to be present. "I didn't mean to get distracted."

"Is everything okay? You've been on edge all evening," asked Bilbo, turning back around to his lover after tipping the barman for not carding his nephew. He glared at where Thorin was concentrated, on the gentleman slumped to the right of them. "Do you know him?"

"I'm fine, darling. I just feel like everyone is staring," Thorin muttered softly, burrowing his face in his hands. Bilbo raised an eyebrow, chuckling nervously as he sipped on his ale and scoured the menu. "What?"

"That might be my fault. I might have told everyone I was taking the businessman out to dinner..." He squeaked, burrowing into his drink like a tortoise into his shell. 

"What? Bilbo!" Turning red in embarrassment, the Londoner's blue eyes went dark as night. He knew Bilbo had been showboating him since he arrived a few days ago, and even Sam and Frodo were making an effort to brag about Thorin's good looks and wealth, but not that they were seeing each other! God, Dwalin was going to absolutely _fire_ him. "W-Why would you ever do that?"

"I'm sorry," He sighed, squeezing his knee under the table. "I figured you wanted us to be... public."

"Public?! T-That's... oh, goodness..." Thorin was sure his lungs were going to explode and come out of his mouth. The air was becoming heavy as he glanced around; The Green Dragon seemed to be running normally, busy as usual, but he couldn't be positive he didn't see one of Dwalin's security guards just excuse himself to the loo. Couldn't they fuck off for one more moment, before they came for Bilbo and his dear nephew. "Bilbo, you have to grab Frodo. G-Go somewhere."

"Excuse me?" Bilbo looks at him like he's speaking another language, his worried tone tugging on Thorin's already tight heartstrings. "Are they here for you? They work for you, don't you? I knew I've been seeing security guards since you got here!"

"What they're here for, that's not important. What's important is you being safe," He mumbles, grabbing his coat and throwing it over his shoulders. Grabbing for Bilbo's hand, he groans frustratedly when the man refuses and sits back down in the booth. This was happening too fast; he thought he had more time than this, but he supposes the Fundin Company has been watching him since he stepped out of his front door in London. "Please don't make this difficult."

"Difficult?! You are a fucking bastard, bringing a security team with you!" Bilbo yells suddenly, causing the pub to go silent. "You thought you could keep me in the dark, hide your secrets! But let me tell you something, Thorin Durin, nobody keeps secrets from me! You tell me _right now_ what's going on, who you work for, or this is over."

Thorin heard a gun click somewhere, and the barman dropped a glass. Frodo and Sam rushed to Bilbo's side, their eyes filled with anxiety as the residents of the Green Dragon filed out like lab rats chasing a treat. "Uncle?" Whispering, Frodo shook like a leaf in Sam's arms, ignoring the soothing protests coming from his friend's lips to calm down, his father would have everything back to normal soon...

"Frodo, go with Sam. Go home and lock all of the doors," He muttered, rolling his sleeves up. Thorin was suddenly aware that he wasn't the elephant in the room; most of the Shire had probably never seen him so riled up. It would have been humorous in a different situation, but not when four men were heading in their direction with their eyes fixated on the consigliere. "Do as I say. I'll join you soon."

"Bilbo, no-" As soon as he could protest, the heaviest of Dwalin's guards took him by the shoulder. 

" _Khazâd ai-mênu!_ " He growled, a heavy gun at his side as he kicked in Thorin's back knees, causing him to fall hostage to their capture. He remembers rope when he was younger, and being dragged from his cousin's arms the same way.

Thorin growled in response, noticing Bilbo's once-fiery eyes turning to dread, and then rage. He took a step back, eyeing the guards. The pub was empty except for the small party related to the consigliere; even the barman had made a beeline once he noticed the people were fleeing, mourning his tips for the evening. The second-tallest of the men grabbed at his curls, forcing his head down to the table. Thorin screamed. 

" _Shamukh_! Leave him!" The words were like charred fire in his throat, his lungs dispelling as his lover was strapped to the nearest chair; he didn't dare fuss, knowing it would cause more trouble for Frodo if he protested. "Thorin, please, help-"

"Leave, _ghivashel!"_ Croaked the older man, his wrists fastened in a burning embrace as he was dragged across the floor towards two black cars in the parking lot. The last thing he recalls in his subconscious is a fussy memory of green eyes, morning coffee, and honeyed curls before he's thrown into the nearest Porsche, the impact knocking him out instantly.

Meanwhile, inside the pub, Bilbo cried for his mother.


	10. Hollowing Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin goes home and deals with the Fundinson Company. Dis walks in. Doctor Gray is introduced. Belladonna is remembered.

"Mahal, it's too early." Thorin rubbed his eyes and cleared his eyes. He was back in his drab apartment in London, and it was a Saturday morning; 2 a.m., if the sound of his alarm meant anything. Considering it was a Saturday, that meant it had been four days since he left the Shire and his lover behind for this job.

Four days of his headaches returning.

Four days of little to no sleep, besides the naps he wasn't taking purposely.

Four days of lectures from his bosses, four days of oaths, four days of cleaning up the mess he transmitted behind in the country. Four days of worrying about Bilbo and Frodo.

Four days of wondering how they had been buried. 

Thorin figured that Bilbo was cremated in the basement halls of the Ered Luin office. The thought brought salty tears to his eyes, imagining the small man going down into nothing but a bottle of ash. He's convinced one of the men in charge of his death threw the bones to the guard dogs if only he was partially charred. He's witnessed it done before -- once, they had done the same to a political family who acquired information about the inside business of the Fundin company. Considering the whole ordeal had to be kept under wraps, they found cremation to be the best way to kill. No noise, no pain, no clean-up. Since that poor class' removal, the company had turned their efforts to this, and this only, when it came to pure, evil destruction. 

Combing back his hair, Thorin stared himself down in the mirror in the bathroom. He was getting more ghostly. His beard was growing back quickly and his eyes were an endless, fogged gray. He had known the grief would be terrible; Frerin's death had hurt like a bee sting until a few years ago when he had found out that his baby brother actually was  _ burned to death _ in the house fire. The memory had been shallow at best, and as a child, he had just imagined that God came down and swept Frerin up. But no, like his brother, his lover and his dear nephew had returned to that same gray dust. 

And he was fully accountable, if not directly the reason behind all of this grief he was currently shedding in an amass of tears. 

Thorin drove around the city and did his business with a straight face. He polished guns of blood and calculated the money in the bag on his lap, handed over by a strange person in a ski mask. He called Dwalin and asked about extra work, just to keep his mind occupied. He drove to the office and stood in for a meeting, taking records of while Balin discussed their latest financial theft endeavor with the royal bank. 

Everything was as so, but his heart was not in it. 

It was far away, in a lush green town, surrounded by fluffy pillows. His heart was tucked into a floral bedspread and had light fluttering in through white curtains of lace and red trim. It was sitting in a fluffy armchair and sipping coffee. It was reading old books. It was tasting sweet honeyed lips and salty semen on his tongue. It was breathing in the spring air of a fresh start and a newly-showered Bilbo pressing kisses to his sternum. It was hearkening, smelling, and sincerely  _ being  _ everything that he wanted to be with Bilbo Baggins. 

The Shire or not, he felt happy when he was with the man, all strings unattached and let loose. His joy and delight was now a cremation, or perhaps a dug-up bone, a jar of a heart and lungs never to be a man again. 

How he wished to be in the same jar of blood and teeth. 

"Thorin, come sit," Balin sighed, shutting the door behind the forum members and sinking into his desk. Looking up to where he was finishing off typing out the notes of the meeting, Thorin suffered a breath and brought his things to the desk. He avoided real eye contact, settling for the bridge of his boss' plump nose. "I want to apologize."

"Apologize?" He snorted, crossing his legs. The office was warm and bright since it was a little after nine in the morning, but it felt as cold as ice in Balin's presence. "I know what I did. I don't need your forgiveness."

"You're right, lad, you don't," The old man smiled weakly, his white hair cut sharply to contrast with his soft features. "But I'm giving it to you anyways. You are one of the most important, if not crucial, parts of what we do here and I'm sorry that we have upset you so. If you would like to take another vacation, we could arrange for you to stay somewhere in Ered Luin and work digitally."

"I don't want to go there... I don't want to go anywhere." He shrugged a shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the offer. "I caused enough trouble leaving for a few days and... mingling without your permission."

"We are not angry that you chose your heart over your heard, Thorin," Balin threw him a fatherly expression. He had always been better with these things than his brother, who turned to blood and steel before a smile. "We've spoken before, I remember, about your love interests. And have agreed that although it would be better that you pursue someone within in the company, it's not impossible to do so outside."

Thorin felt his chest tighten. "Are you saying I could have made it work with Bilbo?"

"I'm saying it's not objectionable, laddie, but it's not any better than having a broken heart. What we did with your... friend, was the right decision. He knew too much already," Balin explained, waving his hands around. "His death is not your fault. It's his own."

" _Mahal_ , speak to me in regular terms," Thorin growled, standing up and grabbing his things. Balin smirked, and he grew tenser, squaring his shoulders. It was always easy to tick off a Durin when you brought up love. "What did he know?"

"It wasn't just information, Thorin." Reaching for a stack of documents, Balin laid them on the desk in front of his consigliere. Headlines of old newspapers were copied, some birth records and the occasional yellowed letter were contained under the tag 'B. Baggins'. "Did Bilbo ever mention anything about his mother to you?"

"His mother? I don't recall..." Sitting back down, Thorin pieced through the information, spotting a few names he recalled from company history, back when Balin and Dwalin's father owned and operated the Fundin business. "She's dead, I know that. Her name was Belladonna, I think? And she was born in Bree, like Bilbo."

"Belladonna Baggins has some history with a certain private investigator. A certain investigator that you _ know  _ would have this company in shreds if he knew about Bilbo's death."

"A certain private investigator... she was friends with-"

"Belladonna Baggins was not just friends with Doctor Gandalf Grey." A warm voice interrupted their conversation, and Dis Fundinson strolled in on high black heels and red painted smile. She looked as gorgeous as ever; she had the Durin brown hair, thick and curled around her shoulders, a sharp nose, and the whits of a fox. They had called her the fox when the two started working for the company; Thorin was the hound, always trailing behind her, picking up slack. 

Dis chuckled when both of the men paused to stare up at her, slinging herself into Thorin's lap and nuzzling him in for a kiss on the cheek. "Dwalin didn't tell me my brother was at work again. Back so soon?"

Thorin nodded, placing a hand on the small of her back. His sister brought out his more protective tendencies, the Durin charm of being stubbornly guarding overpowering his kindness towards his siblings. Frerin had been the root of his protective problems, of course, but Dis was just as much of a troublemaker as his deceased little brother when she wanted to be. "I had some business here that was more important. How do you know about Belladonna?"

Balin bent towards the bookcase behind them, inquiring about a few files out for safekeeping on the matter. "I told her. We had already started investigating while you and Mister Baggins were enjoying yourselves."

"What exactly is there to investigate?" He mourned the subject of speaking about his deceased lover more than anything, but life had to go on. He'd save his tears and heartbreak for this evening in the form of a bottle of whiskey and some television. "I mean, we haven't had any sort of attack from Doctor Gray in years, possibly a decade."

"The problem is this," The white-haired man sighed, stuffing another stack of folders into Thorin's arms, his hands distracted with fixing Dis' braid. "DNA samples. Results. Belladonna worked as an investigative journalist, under Doctor Gray's wing in parliament. She must have been straight out of university. She and Gandalf seemed to have had a little bit of a thing for each other, but I don't believe they publically showed it. However-" Pointing out a date, Balin raised an eyebrow. "On September 22, 1986, she gave birth to a baby. That would make that child thirty-five..."

"So Bilbo's birth father is Doctor Gandalf Gray, the private investigator for the British parliament?" Thorin touched a finger to his lips, feeling the vibrations of the words. It would make sense; Bilbo had the same fire as his father, an unwilling heart. He hadn't ever come in contact with the white-haired investigator but from photographs, the consigliere couldn't put a finger on them being father and son from appearance. Perhaps the little innkeeper took after his mother. "Do we know for sure?"

"As sure as day," Dis sighed, standing to her feet. "Dwalin looked into it as soon as he saw you were staying at that bed and breakfast. Baggins is... too touchy of a name for us to ignore. You said he had a nephew?"

"More like a cousin. His name is- was, Frodo Baggins," Thorin explained, cherishing the blue eyes and a toothy smile. "He couldn't have been older than fifteen or sixteen."

"Interesting," Balin looked up from his ledger notes. "Perhaps there's more to this tale that you know, Thorin. Why don't you tell me everything? From the beginning, if it's not too much heartbreak."

“I need to know something first,” Thorin demanded, suddenly standing tall, as if he was in charge. Balin just chuckled to himself, knowing his consligliere was too hard-headed to use manners in the workplace. “I demand to know what you did with Bilbo’s... body.”

“His body?” Raising an eyebrow, the white-haired elder shot a look to the Durin’s sister. Dis shrugged, winking in her brother’s direction. “I believe that was Dwalin’s business, not mine. You should ask him.”

“Or I can ask you; I know that you know,” He huffed, trying to appear regal when all he wished was to let tears and sorrow leak out. “Did you keep them alive?”

The door suddenly shot closed with a foot, Dis’ heel making the walls shake. The sudden change of pace made the air feel thicker, somehow, and Thorin was troubled for air before Balin opened a window. “Thorin, as your sister, I need you to trust me.”

“I-I do,” He stammered on, touching a hand to his cheek. He noticed he hadn’t shaved in a long while, dark, ink-like hairs poking out further into a scruffy goatee. Bilbo would have liked that sting; he had adored any type of body hair since Thorin revealed that it was custom in his culture for men to have long hair on their chins. “Where are they? I want to know.”

“All I can say is that they’re safe. I have it in... my own hands, I suppose,” The dark-haired beauty explained, causing Balin to shake his head. Put a Durin woman in charge, it would be a good idea, they said. “That is all I can tell you right now without my husband bringing a knife to my throat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, whew. This was such an enjoyable chapter to write. I made plans to see the Fellowship Of The Ring in IMAX theaters tomorrow -- so excited! Regardless, this chapter is where I've been crawling towards in terms of plot lines. We are getting there, hold on tight. Enjoy!


	11. A Temporary Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Frodo find themselves in an unexpected mansion, on the loneliest mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, I know I said this about the last chapter, but this one was a joy to write! I have been wanting to introduce Erebor for so long -- just so you know, in this AU, it was once a thriving little mountain town, but was burned due to arson. Thorin and family lived there with their grandfather before the fire, which is when Frerin and his parents died. Thorin and his sister moved to Ered Luin with a certain groundskeeper mentioned here; later, I'll introduce some more backstory. I hope you enjoy, readers! I always appreciate all of the lovely reads and comments. 
> 
> If you have any reccomendations for things you would like to see happen, please mention them! I adore knowing what y'all like.

The mountain town of Erebor was old news. Lost in a fire some many decades ago, the small mining city had crumbled to nothing but dark ash. The houses and small brick structures that withstood the flames had grown desolate, black markings signifying the past destruction. Ivy grew over the rubble and the animals and birds were still cautious to make their homes in the debris, fear of seeing the glowing flames still fresh in their minds. It was here that the city became known as the Fallen; it was forgotten and abandoned, never to be lived in again by the natives of the Misty Mountains or the neighboring kingdom of Ered Luin. 

The deer were becoming more curious by the day, however, and a small family of does and a single buck toed their way through the rubble. Snouts coated in ash snorted and sniffed at the green growing through concrete and stone, looking for signs of seed. It would be a century before these lands decayed, the stone crushed into dirt and earth. Forgotten relics stood the passing of time in Erebor; the buck noted a porcelain doll baby resting up against a tree stump, as black as night, and a brown leather jacket under the kindling, its inner fur burned. 

Somewhere in between the old marketplace and a mansion, a doe cried out for mercy. The deer were stunned and ran to her aid, but missed the arrow which pierced the young deer's throat. Down she tumbled into the rolling hills on the side of the mountain, blood staining the heather.

A hunter stood some yards away, a pleased grin on his face. He had been watching the deer since they arrived days ago, keen eyes bringing them closer until he docked his bow and shot. The others disappeared quickly into the woods, but the archer knew they would be back. Erebor may have been long overlooked by humans, but the animals were meddlesome fellows; he admired them for their determination, but more-so wished to have a hearty stew for dinner. 

The hunter tied the doe up in a tree and slit down her middle, the blood dripping out onto his boots. Satisfied, he hung around and watched the fallen city as gentle drops fell from the creature's gullet, a reminder that life and death were close friends; here he stood in a dead city, alive, a dead animal that had been killed by his own hands joining the bodies of Ereboreon residents from days ago.

Once the deer was cleaned, he took out his blade and skinned it, salting the meat as he tucked it in a few pieces of cloth. Throwing the animal over his shoulder, the hunter began his journey up the mountain, humming an old tune that he forgot the words to. It was an Ered Luin lullaby about the fire; he remembered it from the manor family that used to live above the city when years ago he had traveled with them and promised to take care of the old man who lived to serve Erebor, and never wished to leave. 

The old man had died thirty years ago, but the hunter spared no excuse to not keep the manor home lively. He worked as a groundskeeper, living off of the land. He hunted and cooked for himself, tended to the growing grasses, and hacked the trees to keep the house warm. Some day, he knew that the house would be sold, and he would be off the payroll that the current owner, the granddaughter of the old, was sending him monthly. But for now, he enjoyed the fresh air around him, his warm bed in the mansion, his three dogs (puppies of those who had done the same as the deer and wandered into the lost city, and thus poisoned themselves with the idea that spilled gasoline was water), and his solitude. 

The house stood like a star in a black night sky as the hunter approached it. The old estate, stone three-stories high with a grand staircase, was built into the hill, its basement built with access to a little mountain cave where the man remembers children playing in. It had withstood the fire because of its fine craftsmanships, and the hunter had washed its outer walls of the ash, discovering that the mansion he cherished so much was in immaculate condition, save for a few trees and bushes that were lost in the spreading flames. It was a fine house with ivy on its walls, as a fantasy castle. Even more grand were the rooms inside, warm and comfortable with magnificent fireplaces, century-old furniture, and all the comforts of home. Security was an unnecessary part of the man's job; the home had never been looted or subject to vandalism, and remained stuck in time, the aromas the same as they had been when the hunter served.

The hunter started cooking when he heard footsteps above and glanced up at the stairs to find a young boy, a teenager, possibly, sauntering down with curious eyelids, possibly frightened, as his steps were so light even the dogs did not wake. 

The hunter paused his cooking and turned to face him, his face empty of all reactions save for a gentle smile that he passed to the boy. " _ Hello. No need to be afraid. My name is Beorn, I am merely the groundskeeper. _ "

The boy, his brown curls falling in front of his face, seemed to calm, stitching his lips together as he made no move from the stairs. Seemingly unsure if he should run up or down them, he sat and stared at Beorn, who was wearing a checkered flannel shirt and a funny-looking haircut, like a werewolf caught in the flesh. 

" _ Gentle bunny, do you not speak the language? _ " He raised an eyebrow, pointing to the wall with an old wood sign reading, in Khuzdul,  _ Khiluz Faern.  _ The boy shook his head, still confused. The hunter sighed; Dis had told her that his guests were kind and enjoyed the comforts of home, or so she had heard. She had not informed him that they did not speak the language of the native people, as most of his guests over the decade knew. He cleared his throat. "My name is Beorn."

Instantly, the boy's ear flicked and he muttered a quiet greeting. "I'm Frodo. Where are we? What happened? Why are me and my uncle here? I want to go home."

"I do not know... a lot of English," He explained, brushing a hand through his nest of hair. "I am sorry. I will try to explain what I can about what is going on. But, ah,  _ deraz...  _ eat."

"I don't know..." Frodo mumbled, one hand on the railing in case he needed to make a run for it. He remembered that Thorin's security guard had a gun and that Bilbo had advised him to run home... but besides that, nothing about arriving here, in this unfamiliar house, or why his uncle was sleeping so hard upstairs, in a bed not his own. "You work for him, don't you?"

"I am a friend of  _ Uz-Dis _ ," He explained, waving his hands around to represent the short stature of the youngest Durin sibling. "Master Dis ordered you here, it is safe house."

"A safe house..." Standing on his feet, Frodo slowly made his way down the stairs, admiring the paintings adorning the walls, which were all a matching purple-red, with stone flooring and high ceilings. The house really was beautiful, at least the bit he had seen of it, and he wondered if they were somewhere just as beautiful. But how exactly did they  _ get  _ here? "So, like, we're being protected... from what, exactly?"

"The  _ Uzbad _ did not say. She simply spoke."

"And you're sure you don't know anything about what I'm talking about? You know, the guns in the Shire, Bilbo getting tied up, Thorin getting escorted out-"

"Oh!  _ Uz-Thorin _ !" Beorn seemed to light up at the mention of the same, bringing Frodo's heart to drop. So he  _ did  _ know about all of this... dangerous business going on, whatever it was. "I do not know. I have not seen him for a time... he was very young."

Well, at least that meant Mister Durin was halfway respectable as a child if he had caused the groundskeeper's eyes to light up like the fireworks Bilbo's friend Gandalf used to bring during the summer. Frodo made a mental reminder to ask his uncle about Gandalf; he missed the old chap, no matter how strangely suspicious he had been about the Baggins family. "Thorin is a dangerous man."

Beorn cackled in his broken tone, turning a pan off on the stove. He began to set the table for three, with tea whistling in the kitchen. "He has had a lot of sadness. He is not dangerous, just spirited. Come eat."

Bilbo was not awake by the time Frodo finished a strange, silent breakfast of fried venison, eggs, and glass goats of milk. Beorn had eaten most of the food but saved enough for a second helping of the eggs for his uncle, which he gave to Frodo to deliver. He did so after discovering Mister Beorn had three massive dogs, gray and tan wolfhounds, and proceeded to sneak a bite off to them from under the table. 

Facing an angry, lightheaded uncle was not his chosen activity for the day, but he supposed Bilbo would be a tad more afraid than his nephew. Since he was raised in the big city, Frodo was familiar with strangers. Bilbo had known the same forty-some people his entire life, and that was all. The brunette stirred in a bed much-too-large for his lithe frame, poking an eye open as he awoke from a nightmare, clutching his forehead.

"What time is it?" He crooned, wanting to stab whoever had decided the sun to shine so brightly this morning. 

Frodo bit his lip, sitting at the end of the mattress and handing over the eggs and some tea. "I'm not too sure. Here, Uncle Bilbo, you should eat something."

Bilbo seemed to gravitate to drinking first, perhaps dull his headache, nursing the tea in his hands as he rubbed an eye and looked around; the bedroom was unfamiliar, and a chill ran down his spine, reminding him at once what had occurred the evening before. "Do I know this place? This is still the Shire, right? I need to get home."

"I don't think we can, Uncle," He explained, motioning to the window which showed mountains laced with white clouds in the distance. Bilbo furrowed a brow, crawling out of the mattress to stand on his toes, peering out. He squeaked, the height making him dizzy as he fell back onto his bottom. Frodo reached to help him up, steadying him with a hand on the small of his back. "It's okay. The owner of the house is nice. He says he knows Thorin."

"Oh, goody," Rolling his eyes, the older man made a beeline for his shoes, tucked halfway under the oak bed frame. "Is he here too? The son of a motherfucker needs a bit of spanking. He near got us killed!"

"Uncle, language," Frodo chuckled, the plate of breakfast in tow. He had already discovered that the groundskeeper did not like to waste, seeing as the house was in the wilderness. "This is his sister's house, or that's what I gathered from Beorn."

"Beorn? Who- you know what, I'd rather not know." Zipping up his jacket, Bilbo scowled and cursed, digging his feet into the oak floors until he realized their age. As stubborn as he was, there was no way in hell he would ruin such a gorgeous artifact as this flooring. "I will not be Thorin's hostage! I know he probably meant well, but I told him I was staying. Perhaps his clientele missed that point. Regardless, we're leaving, now."

"I would not suggest, Mister Bunny," Beorn, poking his head into the door, smiled wide. Bilbo fell back in wild humiliation, covering his face, while Frodo passed him the teacup. "There is not a main road for many miles."

"That's just the point, then, isn't it? Caging your lover in like a lab rat, who would have guessed? Thorin  _ will  _ be hearing from my lawyers. Oh, for god's sake, I have an inn to run!" Tears running down his cheeks, Bilbo fell into Frodo's arms, shaking with a frightened tremor. Frodo stroked back his uncle's curls, trying to appear stronger. 

Beorn's face fell, and he set down the cup, coming over to touch the innkeeper's shoulder before it was brushed away in stressed agony. God, Bilbo would kill whoever did this to him and his nephew! It was obvious that getting with Thorin was a bad idea, but he had just expected to be dumped, not held hostage in the middle of nowhere!

Sniffling, Bilbo ran his hand under his nose and peered up with teary eyes, glowering like Beorn had washed his mouth out with soap. "Pardon my tone, mister, but fuck you. Fuck the whole lot of you."

Beorn illuminated at the man's colorful demeanor and chuckled, crossing his arms. "I am afraid I do not understand, Bunny."

"Where exactly are we, then? Care to tell, even if you're the ringleader in all of this?" Motioning to the mess in his face, Bilbo tried to appear pissed off, but he was more sincerely heartbroken than anything."

"You are in Erebor, Master Baggins. This is the personal home of Thorin Durin. You are his honored guest."


End file.
